


Ready and Willing

by dedkake



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Aphrodisiacs, Cock Rings, Devotion, Dubious Consent, M/M, Master/Slave, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Slavery, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:25:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Kingdom of Genosha, all psionics are kept as pleasure slaves for the upper classes.  King Erik, new to the throne, is gifted an old childhood friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready and Willing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=22013413#t22013413) kinkmeme prompt and for the orgasm denial square on my [longfic bingo](http://longfic-bingo.livejournal.com/) [card](http://dedkake.livejournal.com/11425.html).
> 
> The nature of the prompt is that Charles is willing, but that doesn't change the nature of consent—and really, no one in this story understands consent. Also, it’s been suggested to me that I should say that the master/slave relationship here does not particularly follow any existing culture—it’s more that Charles happens to be a slave who is used for sex.
> 
> Thanks to kayurafii for the beta!

There’s a knock on the door, jarring Erik awake in the early morning light. Grumbling, he rolls himself upright in bed, his legs swinging casually over the side. The coronation and celebration the previous night have left him feeling like a wreck and he has no desire to get up. However, his new station comes with certain expectations. With a sigh, he calls, “What is it?”

“A gift from Lord Shaw,” a voice calls, rich and accented.

Interested now, Erik runs a hand through his hair to look somewhat presentable—not that it matters to a slave or servant coming to him in his bedchamber. “Come,” he says, reaching with his powers to unlatch the complicated lock system he puts on his doors.

The door opens and a slave steps through into the room, the soft pants and sheer robe of his station fluttering in the light breeze from the open balcony. There’s an inhibitor collar clearly placed on the pale column of his throat marking him as a psionic and, therefore, a pleasure slave. But even without it, Erik would know this man. For years he’s been watching him in Lord Shaw’s residences, catching him in empty stairwells for a few stolen moments of conversation whenever he could find the chance—a half a game of chess in one of Shaw’s studies, a glimpse of his hair at some official function.

“Charles,” he says, the name soft on his tongue as he stares.

“Your Grace,” Charles returns, bowing low and keeping his eyes to the ground.

Standing, Erik closes the door behind Charles with a flick of his wrist. “Why has Lord Shaw sent you with his gift?” he asks, taking a few steps across the wide room towards Charles. There’s no reason that Shaw should send a pleasure slave to do his busy work, especially when he has slaves enough for that specific purpose. He’s only seen Charles away from Shaw’s private estate or his rooms in the palace a handful of times.

Licking his lips, Charles says, “I _am_ the gift, Your Grace.”

His words hang heavy in the air between them as he pauses, his lips still parted as he composes himself for the rest of his message. “He says you can come sign my papers whenever it’s convenient.”

Erik’s heart stutters in his chest, his breath catching slightly. He’s dreamed of this, for years, and dreaded the date that he’s set to go to the markets in search of his own pleasure slave. It wouldn’t do for a man of his station to go without one. Even with their psionic powers muted to low-level empathy, their purposes are myriad and valuable, both inside the bedchambers and out. But now—

“Has he sent you as a spy?” Erik asks, voice hard. He doesn’t like the idea, but he doesn’t see any reason for Shaw to gift him one of his own pleasure slaves instead of buying him a new one besides this.

“No, Your Grace,” Charles says softly, his shoulders trembling. Erik wants to go to him, to find out what’s wrong, but he holds his ground. He learned long ago to give up on his impulsiveness.

“Then why has he sent you to me?” he asks.

Charles shifts his weight awkwardly, and Erik’s eyes catch on the way the fabric of Charles’ clothes hangs to cover him in just the right way to make it obvious that he is aroused. “He believes you might find more pleasure in me than he does,” Charles says. His accent is thicker, now, and Erik can see the flush spreading down his neck to his chest where it peeks through his robes.

Taking another step forward, Erik asks, “And why is that?”

With a soft huff of what might be exasperation, Charles says, “Lord Regent Shaw no longer finds pleasure in my age, nor my height, nor my gender.”

“Lord Shaw is no longer regent,” Erik corrects automatically, his mind already geared towards ridding his people of this mindset. But his eyes soften then, and he takes another step forward. “But you’ll find that all of those things please me.”

Charles swallows, the line of his throat catching Erik’s eye once more. “Your Grace?” he asks, shifting his feet again.

Putting a hand on Charles’ shoulder, Erik says, “Unless I tell you otherwise, call me Erik when we are alone.” Charles stiffens under his fingers, nodding his head once in acknowledgement. “And do stop staring at your feet.”

Looking up, Charles finally catches Erik’s eyes, and Erik finds himself lost in the depth of Charles’ blue gaze. Charles looks lost, like he wants to say something, but can’t bring himself to. His skin is warm enough that Erik can feel it across the small space between them, and there’s anticipation enough in the room that Erik knows it can’t all be his own.

“You kissed me, once,” Erik says slowly, running a hand through Charles’ hair, delighting in the way Charles turns into the touch. It had been years ago, in the shade of a tree in some forgotten courtyard. Erik remembers it vividly, despite the moment’s brevity. “Will you do it again?”

Pushing up onto his toes, Charles kisses him, both of his hands coming to rest on Erik’s face. He makes a soft noise into Erik’s mouth as Erik wraps an arm around his waist, guiding them slowly backwards to the bed. He tries to take his time, keeping a pace to match the slow, steady rhythm of Charles’ tongue in his mouth, but it’s only moments before his legs bump up against the sheets. Reluctantly pulling away from Charles’ delicious mouth, Erik drops down, pressing a hand to Charles’ chest to keep him up.

Erik leans back, propping himself up on his arms as he looks up at Charles, still standing between his knees. “Show me,” Erik says, glad he’d only slept in a pair of loose trousers the night before.

The flush on Charles’ face deepens, but he holds Erik’s gaze as he pulls at his robes until they fall away to the floor in a graceful flutter. His pants are next, pooling at his feet. For years, Erik’s imagined what Charles might look like, if the freckles that decorate his arms and face spread farther, or if the rest of him is just as pale and beautiful as his throat. He’s beautiful beneath the fabric, his body toned and masculine in a way that the robes had hidden. The freckles trailing across his shoulders and down his arms take Erik’s breath away. 

Before Erik had even truly understood Charles’ position, his thoughts had been full of fantasies of him. As they matured, Erik's interest in Charles' skills in bed had only grown, changing with his own experiences. None of his fantasies, though, compare to this. There, beneath his legs, he hangs hard and ready, a tight metal ring around the base of his cock that Erik finds almost as interesting as the freckles.

Eyes jumping back to Charles’ face, Erik asks, “Did Lord Shaw do this to you?”

The thought of Shaw touching Charles is never pleasant, but it’s something that Erik has learned to ignore. The question of Charles’ virginity isn’t even on the table, as it might be with a newer, younger slave—there’s no way that Shaw would allow a young, beautiful thing in his possession to mature before tasting it. But Erik doesn’t mind. He’s glad it hasn’t come up.

Charles looks away again, not out of respect for Erik’s station, but out of a shame that creeps across Erik’s skin like spiders. Erik sits up, settling his hands on Charles’ waist. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to catch Charles’ eyes again. “I won’t be upset with you, and you’ll find that I’m always upset with Shaw.”

Drawing in a deep breath that Erik can feel with his fingers, Charles turns his gaze back to Erik. “He put something in my breakfast and then he bound me. He said he wanted to make sure I was ready and willing for you,” he says, his voice strong this time, barely concealing his resentment of Shaw. Erik can sympathize.

“And are you?” Erik asks, his fingers tightening involuntarily on Charles’ hips.

Charles glances down again, confusion twisting his brow. “As you can see,” he starts, but Erik interrupts.

“I _can_ see your beautiful cock, Charles, but I’m asking if you’re really willing. Answer me truthfully. That’s an order.”

Closing his eyes and swaying slightly in Erik’s grip, Charles says, “Yes. For you, yes.”

Erik grins and pushes at Charles until he’s kneeling between Erik’s legs, looking up at him, still uncertain and flushed. “Take care of me and I’ll see about taking that ring off,” he says, pushing at his trousers.

Charles’ lips twitch in a small, aborted smile before he sets to work, helping Erik with his clothes until Erik’s cock is freed, already having taken interest in Charles by the door. He’s good, very good, as he works at Erik’s cock, and Erik tries not to think about where he’d developed the skill. But Charles is projecting a warm sense of pleasure and enjoyment and Erik tries to reciprocate, because he _is_ enjoying this. His projection technique must work, because Charles is moaning around his cock in seconds, pleasure shooting through Erik like a spark.

Pulling off, Charles replaces his mouth with his hand for a moment to catch his breath. He smiles up at Erik and asks, “Have you ever slept with someone psionic before? You’re very good at focusing your feelings.”

Erik shakes his head, running his fingers through Charles’ hair. Charles hums and tips his head back under the guidance of Erik’s hands. “Do you really like this that much?” Erik asks, breathless, as he catches sight of Charles’ erection as he curls forward. Drugs be damned, Charles is nearly twitching with excitement.

“Yes,” Charles says, his eyes glinting with an amusement that warms Erik from the inside. He leans forward again, his mouth meeting his hand around Erik’s cock.

It doesn’t take Erik long, then. Just another hum around his cock, a twist of Charles fingers, and a shared jolt of pleasure as Charles drags his free hand across his own cock—they’ll have to work on that—and Erik is coming into Charles’ mouth, his fingers probably too tight in Charles’ hair.

Erik falls back onto his bed, chest heaving as he tries to even his breathing to something closer to normal. It takes him a few long moments to realize that Charles is still kneeling between his knees on the floor, not up on the bed with him and he scowls up at the ceiling. “Get up here,” he says, patting the open space beside him.

“Yes, Sir,” Charles says, nearly collapsing next to Erik on the sheets. He keeps his hands to himself, his uncertainty palpable.

Sighing, Erik rolls himself on top of Charles, leaning down over him for another long, slow kiss that leaves Charles panting. Charles’ eyes are glassy in the grey light of the sunrise, and his pupils are dilated so wide Erik can barely see the blue. Swearing softly, Erik kisses Charles’ temple and murmurs something he hopes is soothing as he reaches between them to pull the ring from Charles’ aching cock with a breath of power.

Charles moans, gratitude washing over Erik as Charles’ fingers curl against Erik’s chest, not pushing him away, simply feeling him there. Erik only has to pull at Charles’ cock a few times before Charles is coming with a gasp. Smiling, Erik settles down on top of Charles to rest for a few minutes, at least until the sun rises and duty catches up with him. Halfway into a doze, however, Erik realizes that Charles is still breathing raggedly against his shoulder, and that Charles is still hard against Erik’s hip.

“What did he give you?” Erik says softly, pushing away to look into Charles’ glassy eyes again. He’s heard of drugs that reduce users to fits of lust and passion, but he’s never seen it. “What should I do?”

Shaking his head, Charles rolls them both over, dropping down for another kiss. “You don’t have to do anything this time,” he says against Erik’s lips, resignation in his voice as if he knows something Erik does not. “Just kiss me.”

Erik obliges, trying not to focus too closely on how much he’d like to strangle Shaw and instead on the feel of Charles’ hips beneath his fingers as Charles rocks against him or the feel of Charles’ lip between his teeth, the glide of Charles’ tongue against his own. Time seems to fade away as Charles moves above him, his pleasure a warm shroud against the world.

Charles comes with Erik’s name on his lips, rolling off of Erik to curl against his side when he’s finished. The desperation of his mind dissipates and Erik relaxes against the sheets, keeping one arm around Charles as the morning creeps on. He thinks, mildly, that now he’ll have to find a way to thank Shaw as well as reprimand him in one move.

-

That evening, when Erik is finally able to return to his chambers, he presents Charles with a new collar. This one is a seamless band, its three white stones spaced equally all around. The metals are more refined, better crafted than the one Charles has, and it’s more in Erik’s style. Anyone with any knowledge of the king of Genosha will be able to tell to whom Charles belongs.

Charles smiles at Erik, a soft smile that Erik still doesn’t know how to read, and holds his head up high for Erik to switch the collars. The task is complicated, at least it is if Erik doesn’t want Charles to regain full use of his powers while he’s at it. For the few seconds that both collars rest around Charles’ neck, everything goes unnaturally silent and cold. Erik can’t feel anything from Charles, and Charles doesn’t even seem to breathe. Briefly, Erik wonders if his heart has stopped.

Tearing the old collar off with the help of his powers and letting it fall to the floor, Erik presses in for a kiss, his hands bracketing Charles’ face. Almost immediately, Charles loses his stiff posture, his body becoming warm and pliable, bracing himself gently against Erik’s chest. Erik can feel Charles smiling under his lips and pulls away to raise an eyebrow.

“Isn’t it customary to let someone see the jewelry you buy for them?” Charles asks coyly, his hands resting snugly on Erik’s hips. There’s a looking glass behind Charles, but he clearly has no intention of moving anywhere.

“You can look later,” Erik grumbles, leaning in again so his lips brush Charles’ as he speaks. “Right now _I_ want to look.”

Instead of tipping his head back for Erik, Charles chuckles, his breath ghosting across Erik’s chin. “I’m sure you can’t see a thing when you’re standing so close. Maybe the mirror would help you as much as me,” he says, twisting around towards the mirror, his fingers sliding teasingly from Erik’s sides.

Charles moves slowly across the room, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his form as he goes. Erik stares for a moment, mesmerized, before he pushes himself into action, following Charles to where he’s stopped in front of the mirror. Wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist, Erik tugs him back a step, pleased as Charles melts back against him, tipping his head back onto Erik’s shoulder.

“It’s lovely,” Charles says, his fingers brushing at the new collar. “More beautiful than any collar I’ve ever seen.”

Erik grunts, squeezing Charles as he watches their reflections in the mirror. “As soon as I signed Shaw’s papers, I started making it for you. I won’t stand to have Shaw’s signature on anything of mine,” he says.

Laughing softly and catching Erik’s eye in the mirror, Charles asks, “When did you have time to make something like this? Doesn’t the king have better things to do with his day than make pretty things for his slaves?”

“Bureaucracy,” Erik grumbles. “It’ll be a few weeks before I can do anything of significance.”

Humming softly, Charles pushes his nose against Erik’s ear, his warm amusement flowing over Erik, making it difficult to focus on the image in the mirror. “Whatever will you find to do in the meantime?” he asks, lips catching at Erik’s ear.

“I can think of a few things,” Erik murmurs, finally turning to catch Charles for a kiss. It’s a slow slide of lips, their tongues lazy against each other. Erik almost wishes he could see them in the mirror still, but loses his train of thought when Charles reaches up to tangle his fingers in Erik’s hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

With great effort, Erik pulls out of their embrace. Charles makes a small, displeased noise, but his eyes drop to the floor and his hands fall to rest at the small of his back. The pose is almost mundane on a psionic, but having Charles assume it, here, in Erik’s chambers, as Erik’s slave, is beautiful and somehow humbling, a feeling Erik isn’t used to having. But Charles belongs to him and there’s nothing to feel besides satisfaction, which is no great effort at all.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” Erik says, taking a step back to face a set of drawers against the wall.

Charles moves without comment, the soft rustling of fabric the only indication that he’s even acknowledged the order. Except when Erik allows himself to glance into the looking glass again, he can see Charles on the bed, angled toward Erik in the same position as before, only kneeling this time, the mattress dipping beneath his knees. The collar glints in the lights, a warm contrast to the pale expanses of Charles’ skin. His arousal is on display this time as well, and Erik’s breath catches at the sight of it. His plans to make Charles wait float away, replaced with a renewed hunger that burns throughout him.

Turning back to prowl towards the bed, Erik says, “Lie back.”

Carefully, Charles levers himself backwards, barely breaking his pose. His knees come up in the process, falling open, revealing even more of himself. “Like this?” he asks, looking up at Erik for approval.

Instead of responding, Erik crawls over Charles on the bed, unable to contain a low, possessive sound in his throat. He presses their foreheads together, growling, “ _Mine_.”

-

Erik finds Charles on the balcony, an empty wine glass resting by his elbow on the rail as he leans out over the sea. Even though the whole palace is still lit with festivities, the glow of the stars and moon is painting Charles’ face with soft light. For a moment, Erik is torn between observing from where he is and walking to the rail to join Charles. But Charles turns to glance at him with a smile and Erik is moving without thinking, leaning against the rail so that their arms brush.

“You’re back early,” Charles says, his voice sounding softer after the noise of the party.

“I stayed longer than you,” Erik says. He’d been disappointed to find Charles missing after the first toast.

Ducking his head, Charles says, “Yes, well—there’s not really a place for slaves at the solstice. You, on the other hand, should be out roaming the palace or the woods or the town, trying to find someone to share your life with.”

Erik wrinkles his nose. He’s never enjoyed this time of year, when everyone seems to go crazy with romance. It’s just not practical to think that a fleeting feeling on the solstice can constitute the foundation for a marriage or a life together. “There will be other summers,” he says, although he’s certain Charles will read his disdain.

“What did you wish for?” Charles asks, moving the conversation on with casual grace that Erik envies.

Fingers tight on the rail, Erik says, “The only things a king can wish for. Peace and prosperity for Genosha at sunrise, wisdom for myself as her king at sunset.”

Charles turns to Erik with a smile, his blue eyes glinting, caught between the warm light from inside and the cool, natural shine of the sky. “How selfless,” he says, voice dropping low as he reaches to take Erik’s hand in his own.

Trying to contain his cynicism, Erik asks, “And what do you wish for?”

There is a long silence as Charles turns back to study the sea, his eyes fixing on a single point. Erik worries that Charles will demur and avoid the question, as he sometimes does with personal matters. It’s a fear that Erik can understand, born from years of being silenced, but he can think of few things in the world he wants more than Charles’ honesty. “Whatever it is,” Erik says, squeezing Charles’ hand, “I will do my best to grant it for you, be it in my power.”

Charles smiles but doesn’t move, his eyes still distant. “I gave up putting much stock in wishing long ago,” he says, barely audible now over the waves. “But I can never stop myself. In the morning I wish for those like me, for understanding and acceptance. It seems something unattainable, though.”

Erik’s throat is tight at the implication; psionics freed from their station would change the world, and he’s not sure he’d like to be there when it happens. He adjusts his grip on Charles’ hand and clears his throat. “And what do you wish for at sunset?”

“The same thing that everyone wishes for,” Charles says, laughter edging his words. “Love.”

Drawing himself away from the rail, a strange coolness settling in his stomach, Erik says, “I won’t hold you here tonight. All the slaves of the palace are allowed to search for someone at the solstice.”

Charles turns to face him, pushing his hair back against the breeze. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather stay here,” he says, licking his lips.

Anger burns quick and hot in Erik’s mind, rising out of his own resignation and catching him off guard. “I told you you could go!” he shouts, gesturing behind him toward the door to his chambers. “You could leave tonight and there would be no one to stop you!”

Charles takes an uncertain step forward, his face stricken, somewhere between hope and concern, and Erik continues, “You could be free! Isn’t that what you want?”

With a sigh, the tension falls from Charles’ shoulders. “My personal freedom has little to do with what I want,” he says, sinking slowly to his knees, his hands behind his back in the perfect pose of submission. Erik feels sick.

“If it’s all the same to you, Erik,” Charles repeats, the name a disjointed intimacy, “I’d rather stay where I am.”

Erik closes the distance between them, grabbing Charles up by his hair and looking deep into his eyes. “Do you have any idea how maddening you are?” he asks, trying not to enjoy the way Charles is shivering against him.

Charles does a horrible job of concealing the smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Show me.”

-

It’s been a long day, and Erik is more pleased than ever to find Charles waiting for him in his chambers. He’s waiting by the bed as always, head bent in deference, already naked, just as Erik had asked him to be that morning. The breeze coming in from the balcony is chilly and Charles’ skin is peppered with goosebumps where he stands. He’s had his hair cut recently, and Erik appreciates the length, still long enough to get a solid grip on, but in no danger of obscuring the collar at his throat.

A possessive fire sparks in Erik’s gut, spreading through him in a flash, heating his mind and his senses. It’s always like this with Charles, even after three years of near constant companionship without any other partners. It might not be logical or practical, but Erik is long past denying it. And even across the room, Erik can feel the same heat in Charles, reflected back at him either intentionally or not. He breaks.

Wasting no time on words, Erik crosses the room, shedding his clothes as he goes. He pauses a breath away, his hands poised over Charles’ shoulders and his heart beating wildly in his throat. Even with the few inches of space between them, Erik can feel the tension in Charles’ body, the anticipation and the naked want, and he needs more. “Look at me,” Erik breathes.

Charles obeys, lifting his gaze to meet Erik’s. The blue of his eyes is depthless and it burns with the desire his mind is leaking. But there’s a vulnerability there that Erik isn’t used to seeing, as if Charles is somehow uncertain after all this time. For a moment, Erik worries that Charles might see the same feeling reflected in his own eyes, because it is certainly there, twisting in his stomach.

When he can take it no longer, Erik lets his hands fall forward to Charles’ shoulders, pushing him back and down onto the bed. He follows him down, sliding across him to tangle his fingers in his hair and pull him into a kiss. Charles moans into his mouth as Erik licks his way inside, the pressure of Charles’ approval at the action lapping gently against his mind. There are warm hands moving down his sides, across his back, fingers biting into his flesh with blunt nails as he rolls his hips against Charles.

Erik pulls back, catching Charles’ gaze again, and Charles breathes his name, a desperate edge in his voice, his hips twisting beneath Erik, pressing the heated line of his cock into Erik’s skin. The effect is delayed a moment as Erik stares down at Charles in wonder before snapping into action.

Pressing his face into Charles’ neck, he sucks a kiss into the soft skin under his inhibitor collar. He growls softly, wanting to be closer to Charles. They’re pressed skin to skin, and they’ll be closer soon, but it won’t be enough. “I need you,” Erik says into Charles’ neck, his voice a deep, rasping rumble that makes Charles shiver. “I need more of you.” He thinks of the looking glass across the room, the one that spans from floor to ceiling, but Charles is shaking his head.

It’s unlike Charles to ever deny Erik anything, so rare an occurrence that Erik pulls back again in surprise, frowning down at Charles.

“No, no,” Charles says, his fingers scrabbling against Erik’s shoulders in a weak attempt to pull him back down.

Erik goes, falling into another kiss, but keeping it short this time. He breaks apart just enough to say, Charles still panting against his lips, “What do you want?” He knows what he wants—to be as close to Charles as he can get, to somehow manage to get closer than they’ve ever been before—but he’s always willing to listen to Charles’ ideas, in and out of bed.

Charles stares at him for a moment, his eyes searching, before he tips his chin up, careful not to hurt Erik as he does. “Take it off,” he says, his voice an odd mixture of gentle and ragged.

It takes a moment for the words to make any sense to Erik and when he realizes just what it is Charles is asking of him, he sits back on his heels, staring down at Charles in his confusion. In the three years that Charles has belonged to him, he’s asked for very little of Erik, his suggestions and demands in bed aside. And now, suddenly, _this_. It’s unheard of, a psionic going un-collared, mostly because it’s _dangerous_. There are reasons that the laws of Genosha are so strict when it comes to psionics, and it’s not Erik’s place to challenge centuries of history and wisdom.

“Please, Erik,” Charles says, fingers tight where they’ve fallen on Erik’s hips. “It will be good. We’ll be closer. I want to _know_ you, Erik.”

And it must be true. Even the intimacy that their connection across the collar allows is deeper than Erik had ever considered possible between two people. He can only imagine what it might be like to be even _closer_ , and he wants it. He wants it more than he’s wanted anything in a very long time.

“But—” Erik starts to say, his hands fisting against Charles’ chest.

“I’ve never hurt you, Erik. Please,” Charles says, the cool press of his mind startlingly absent from the back of Erik’s mind.

History and legend are not exactly one sided, of course, and Erik can recall a handful of stories about the beauty of uninhibited psionic mutations and the strength and pleasure that come from them. And Charles is right—Charles is right far more often that Erik likes to admit. It took courage for Charles to say what he has, stepping completely out of line to express himself where he has no right to do so. But Erik isn’t upset, not at all—the opposite, in fact.

Very slowly, Erik settles himself down over Charles again, leaning in until their foreheads are touching once more. Charles lies still beneath him, not even seeming to breathe. “I trust you,” Erik says, not quite able to believe he’s saying it.

He brushes his lips against Charles’ for another kiss, sinking forward as Charles opens up for him. Letting his eyes slip shut, enjoying the slow, sensual drag of the kiss, Erik reaches out with his own powers. He maps out the collar again, as he has a million times before, looking for just the right place, before he pulls at it with a twitch of power and it falls free of Charles’ neck.

The room goes suddenly silent and Erik barely has the sense of mind to place the collar on the bedside table before turning to make sure Charles is still breathing. Erik gasps when he meets Charles gaze. He hadn’t realized that he’d lost his erection in his internal debate until heat is suddenly pooling heavy in his stomach once more, his pulse racing to keep up. Charles is staring up at him, his blue eyes somehow both focused and distant, their sparkling fire brighter than ever.

_You’re more beautiful than I’d ever imagined,_ Charles says, and it takes Erik a moment to realize that he hasn’t actually spoken aloud, but rather inside of Erik’s mind.

“That’s amazing,” Erik says, breath catching in his throat. He hasn’t spent a great deal of time studying psionic powers, and he feels now that he’s missed a large portion of important education.

The dazed look on Charles’ face melts into a soft smile, one that Erik is used to seeing on Charles, but one he never tires of. “Thank you, Erik,” he says, and this time his mouth is moving. “I promise I won’t use it against you. Not ever.”

Erik opens his mouth to respond, but pauses when he feels the brush of Charles’ mind again, this time stronger than he’s ever felt it. It’s warm and awed and so very happy that Erik can’t stop a small smile forming on his lips. “I thought the whole point was for you to use it on me,” he says eventually, when he’s able to form words of his own again.

Charles grins up at him before flipping them, rolling himself on top of Erik on the bed. _You know what I meant,_ he says in this strange, new mind-voice that echoes in Erik’s head. It comes with another wave of amusement and intent, but Charles is moving before Erik can really prepare himself, settling gently between Erik’s outstretched legs to run his fingers over the head of Erik’s cock. _May I?_

“Shit,” Erik hisses, jaw clenching at the sensation. “You’d better.”

Humming softly— _happily_ , Erik notices belatedly—Charles drops his head to lick a stripe down the side of Erik’s straining erection. Erik loves Charles’ mouth on his cock, and he has never held back on expressing that to Charles in the past, but this time, Charles is responding. Immediately, in full detail, colored with his exact emotions.

“Fuck, Charles,” Erik growls, twisting his hands into Charles’ hair. “Your _mouth_.”

_Your_ cock _, Erik_. Charles’ mental voice is rich and warm, the emotions that accompany it somehow making it more clear—more true—than his spoken voice. A flood of sensation washes over Erik’s mind, the smell and taste of cock, the feel of it on his tongue, fingers pulling his hair—it’s all Charles’ feelings, and Erik is experiencing it right along with him, feeling the pleasure of both ends.

“You’re amazing, Charles,” Erik says around frantic gasps for air, pushing Charles’ head towards a better angle.

Winking up at him without missing a beat, Charles sends back, _You’ve told me before._

Erik shakes his head, trying to keep watching instead of letting his head fall back onto the sheets. “No. This—” he pants out because it’s suddenly important that Charles understands, “— _this_ is amazing. Your mind.”

_You have no idea_ , Charles says, but Erik thinks he really does, especially when he catches the movement of Charles hips against the mattress.

“None of that,” Erik says, one of his hands falling to push at Charles’ shoulder in an effort to get him to stop moving. Charles stops completely, and Erik groans in frustration. There is a tense moment of stillness between them, before Erik feels a flare of lust and painful dissatisfaction that is not his own, something tinged with the pressure of sheets instead of tongue—Charles powers are seemingly boundless in scope.

Shifting up onto his knees, Charles draws off of Erik’s cock, his tongue dragging slow, small arcs as he goes, making Erik swear softly. “As you wish,” Charles says, his voice sultry around its ragged edges, before descending once more to swallow Erik down whole.

Erik’s shout strikes a rough balance between a gasp and a moan, his hands grasping wildly for Charles’ hair. A few more swirls from Charles’ tongue, another swallow, a low moan that could be from either of them, and Erik is panting out a warning to Charles, his hands tightening in Charles’ hair, holding him in place. But Charles is squeezing at the base of Erik’s cock and pulling back, breaking out of Erik’s grip and off of him completely. Erik is left aching and on the edge, gasping for air in confusion.

“None of that,” Charles mocks, his voice smooth this time, confident. Erik very nearly orders him to get back to sucking, but after a few calming breaths, he’s able to think again. It’s not too bad to have more time, to drag this out, and Charles is already moving on, grabbing for the container of slick from the bedside table.

“Let me,” Erik says, fingers itching to fit themselves into Charles, his mind already alight with the possibilities Charles’ telepathy might bring.

Charles shakes his head, holding the jar out of Erik’s reach as he sits back on his heels. “I want to,” he says with a smile. “You just sit back and relax.”

Glaring up at him, Erik keeps his hand outstretched, demanding that Charles obey. But then Charles’ mental voice is flickering across him again, caressing his mind and soothing his thoughts. _This is my thank you. Please._

After a brief, tense moment, Erik finally nods, settling back against the sheets. His hands jump up to Charles’ thighs as soon as Charles moves to kneel over him, and he worries briefly that this might be against whatever rules Charles has at the moment, but Charles smiles warmly down at him, his eyes sparkling in the flickering candlelight of the room.

_Just don’t touch anything sensitive. I don’t want either of us coming any time soon,_ Charles says with his mind, his mouth busy sucking in deep breaths as he slicks his fingers.

Erik doesn’t know where to look, at Charles glistening lips or his glistening fingers or the glistening bead at the tip of his cock, still hard and waiting. Licking his lips, he curls his fingers against Charles’ skin, enjoying the way Charles shivers in response. “As if your thighs aren’t sensitive,” he murmurs, finally focusing on Charles’ face, a challenge sparking to life in the corner of his mind.

“Hush,” Charles says. “Not now.” Erik feels a sensation suspiciously similar to a pinch to his side even though both of Charles’ hands are busy as he pushes one finger into himself.

The groan that pushes itself from Charles’ chest reverberates through the air and into Erik’s mind and he has to close his eyes for a moment, enjoying the bone-deep satisfaction that hangs around them—only to snap his eyes open once more when he remembers that this show is for _him_. “Fuck, Charles,” Erik hisses, fingers twitching as he tries to keep himself still.

_Yes,_ Charles responds, although Erik isn’t sure what he means. At least he isn’t sure until Charles shows him exactly what he means, his mind opening up completely before Erik. Yes, the sound of Erik’s voice is sparking fires under his skin; yes, reducing Erik to cursing makes him feel powerful; yes, they’re going to fuck soon and it’s going to be so good; _yes_.

“Faster,” Erik chokes out, unable to pull in enough air to breathe properly. Charles nods, his fingers immediately speeding up, already three of them inside, thrusting and twisting. Charles’ head falls back, panting at the ceiling as he drops one hand onto Erik’s chest to keep himself up as he pushes back against the fingers of his other hand.

“Charles,” Erik says against his dry mouth. “Charles, now.”

Charles withdraws his fingers, moaning softly as he does, his disappointment thick in the air, overridden only by his heated anticipation for what’s to come. He makes quick work of Erik’s cock, stroking it only enough to spread the slick around, swatting Erik’s hand away when he reaches to help.

_Look at me,_ Charles says, and Erik tears his eyes away from Charles’ fingers to his face. They stare in silence, chests heaving gently, panting for air, searching each other’s eyes for a long moment.

“Now,” Charles breathes at last, and sinks down onto Erik’s cock, stretching himself slowly, his thighs trembling with the effort to keep a steady pace. His emotions are leaking, washing across Erik’s mind in a flurry of want and need and satisfaction and desperation and a million other unnamed and blurred feelings, leaving Erik breathless.

Erik’s head falls back to the sheets, his eyes squeezing shut against the barrage of sensation against his skin and his mind as Charles settles, one hand fluttering undecided between pressing against Erik’s chest and his own. “You feel so good,” Erik manages to say, unable to restrain his praises for Charles.

Charles hums, the noise nearing contentedness as he tightens his knees against Erik’s sides. Suddenly all the emotions flickering in his mind narrow down to a very clear image of himself, through Charles’ eyes—just how perfect Charles finds this moment, the feel of his cock, the spread of Erik’s body beneath him, the warm fire of Erik’s mind blazing beneath the tips of his mental fingers so clearly.

Gasping, Erik forces himself to look up again, to hold Charles’ heated gaze. “Charles,” he says, his voice bordering on a growl. “Fuck yourself on me. Fuck.”

“Yes,” Charles says, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he pulls himself back up, his thighs tense under Erik’s fingers as he sinks down once more.

The rhythm that Charles sets is just right, something the two of them have found a common ground in through the years—the pace saved for the most tender encounters, that brings them the closest that they can be, even closer now that Charles’ mind is so open around them. Usually, Erik finds it difficult to sit still while Charles is so near, but in this moment, staring up at the underside of Charles’ chin, his exposed neck, down his chest, his jutting cock, the blurred image of his own erection pushing in and out of Charles, Erik finds himself content to lie back and watch.

_Thank you, Erik,_ Charles whispers into his mind, his mental voice as ragged as his spoken voice would be, his gratitude stark against the background of pleasure that pulses behind the words. Erik nods back, not trusting himself to form words, his mind barely recognizing the possibility of responding mentally.

With a grin, Charles squeezes around Erik on an upstroke, one of his hands dropping to brush lazily against one of Erik’s nipples.

Moaning, Erik pants out, “Do that again, and I’ll come.” It’s not really the warning it should, more like a plea. As wonderful as this is, he’s ready, has been ready for so long already. This, at least, he hopes Charles will understand.

Charles must miss the thought, though, because he hums gently and says, “We can’t have that, can we?” Reaching down to squeeze the base of Erik’s cock once more, Charles slows his pace to something excruciating, his fingers digging into the skin of Erik’s chest with the effort it takes him.

“God dammit,” Erik moans, dropping his head back to the mattress, his heels dragging uselessly at the sheets, barely shifting Charles at all. The denial of release hurts this time, a dull ache beneath the simple desperation. It won’t matter, he knows—there’s no way his body can last like this—but the frustration of waiting is delicious.

Suddenly, Charles’ hand jumps up from Erik’s chest to his temple, his eyes going distant for a moment, before he smiles once more. Erik tries to growl up at him, but it comes out as a moan instead, his lips falling apart instead of maintaining his scowl as Charles picks up the rhythm from before.

Erik pants out Charles’ name, on the edge of release, ready to come as soon as Charles tightens around him again—but nothing happens. His stomach spasms painfully, but the edge hasn’t gone away, he’s still there, unable to come. And it _hurts_ , but the burn is better than anything, with Charles murmuring his name and senseless praise and affectionate words above him.

“Is that—?” Erik tries to ask, words strangled and unclear, but Charles seems to understand because he’s nodding, an incessant thrum of a positive response pressing against Erik’s mind. “ _Fuck_.”

Erik is suddenly reduced to panting Charles’ name, his fingers gripping at Charles’ hips, more to anchor himself than to control Charles’ movements. Everything around them is a blur, all feelings, time itself, all lost to the simple sensation of Charles around his cock, the feel of Charles’ skin beneath his fingers, Charles’ fingers against his chest, Charles’ voice in his ears. He can’t stop himself from pushing up into Charles anymore, chasing any chance of relief he can get, and Charles tips forward, catching himself on a hand by Erik’s head.

They’re face to face, inches apart, and the world seems to stop. But Charles is moving closer, his hips rocking into Erik’s harder, faster, as he falls into an open mouthed kiss that Erik can’t help but open under him, his babbling swallowed fast into Charles’ mouth.

_Tell me, Erik,_ Charles says into Erik’s mind, words almost awkwardly clear, like he’s trying too hard to be heard. _Tell me I can come._

Gasping into their kiss, Erik nods, aware that it isn’t the response Charles is looking for. He refuses to break away, though, and tries to put together a reply in his mind. _Yes. Come, come, now, come, Charles, yes, come._

Charles moans, the noise deep and Erik can feel it everywhere. Between them, he can feel Charles’ cock twitching, spilling across their chests. As Charles collapses over him, Erik realizes, somewhat belatedly, that he’s coming, too. It’s being wrung from him, dragging out longer than it should, leaving him winded and aching everywhere, his vision going blank and white.

Erik can’t breathe, but he doesn’t want either of them to move, either. He loops his arms up around Charles’ waist, only to have Charles roll lazily to the side a moment later. Being separated is not an option, though, and Erik rolls with Charles, pressing against his side to suck in lungfuls of air in the space between Charles’ shoulder and neck.

Humming contentedly, as he always does, Charles murmurs, “Thank you.” Or maybe he speaks it into Erik’s mind. The wave of affection and sated bliss that follows is certainly only in his mind, sharp and clear despite Charles groggy state.

The collar should probably go back on, Erik thinks distantly, but he can’t think about it now. Charles might leave, or he might not. He might kill Erik, or he might not. It doesn’t seem to matter. The world could be ending now, and Erik’s not sure he could muster the energy to care. So he lets himself relax against Charles and bask in the waves of abstract thought and pure emotion that Charles is exuding.

-

In the morning, Erik wakes to find Charles still there in his bed. Sometime in the night, Charles must’ve cleaned them up, but he’s still there, stretched out on his back, fingers twisted in the intricate design of the iron headboard, soaking up the morning light. The light is the reason that Erik had chosen this room, upon moving into the palace. Round, the room is more than half open to the balcony that stretches out over the bay, leaving it vulnerable to attack—not the first choice of many monarchs for a bedchamber. It had previously been used simply as a morning lounge, but Erik saw the potential, and now he drinks in the benefits.

Charles’ pale skin, dotted with freckles, nearly glows in the light filtering in through the many layers of sheer curtains and fabrics hung around the room and bed. Fingers tracing soft patterns across the muscles of Charles’ bared chest, Erik enjoys the warmer patches of skin where light falls directly, heating it despite the cool ocean breeze. Smiling, Erik presses at Charles’ skin with more intent, fingers brushing lower on his belly as a bright flush begins to spill down Charles’ chest.

Mornings like this aren’t particularly rare, but after last night, Erik feels like everything is different. At least, everything might be different, now that Charles’ powers are free. It’s thrilling. Rolling on top of Charles, careful to keep his weight on his hands and knees, Erik pushes his nose into Charles’ neck, intent on working at the now bare skin there. Except it’s not bare. The inhibitor collar is back in place, its metal band seamless once more, all three small, white stones glowing faintly with power.

Erik draws back, still mindful not to wake Charles, to inspect the collar with his fingers. He doesn’t remember putting it back on Charles in the night, and he doesn’t think he’s prone to using his powers unconsciously. No one else has access to these chambers, not even the other house slaves are allowed in without being called for, and even if someone else had come, no one could fix this specific collar, nor would they try without first investigating the circumstances. Which leaves Charles.

It’s not beyond belief that Charles could use his own powers to access Erik’s, certainly not after his display last night. But the idea that Charles—anyone, really—would willingly submit himself to slavery again when faced with such an opportunity to escape is nearly inconceivable. That _Charles_ would submit to _him_ once more has Erik shivering, desire stirring low in his stomach.

Groaning softly, Erik leans over to place a kiss to Charles’ ear, nudging at his hip encouragingly. Charles murmurs something unintelligible as he lets himself be turned over, his back arching in the shadow of Erik’s body. He’s still asleep, always slow to wake, and Erik finds a tight, warm pang in his chest warring with the pull of lust from his cock. Ignoring the new sensation, Erik lowers himself slowly to press against the length of Charles’ body, his cock resting comfortably in the crack of Charles’ ass and his mouth finding purchase on the span of a shoulder.

Erik lets out a ragged breath, amazed at Charles for more reasons that he can count. Slowly, he starts to rock against Charles, setting a slow, even rhythm to match the mood of the morning. There’s no rush today, nothing to draw either of them from this bed, and Erik has every intention of milking it.

A minute fumble in the rhythm and Charles moans beneath him, drawing in a breath that has him pressing even closer to Erik. Very slowly, he blinks himself awake, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he catches Erik’s eye only a breath away against his shoulder. “Good morning,” he murmurs, twisting his grip on the headboard to push himself up against Erik.

“You stayed,” Erik says around a groan. He shouldn’t comment on it, just as Charles hadn’t commented on it last night. He should let them both continue on as they always have, but he can’t stop himself—he can’t ignore this shift in their relationship.

Charles’ smile widens, understanding glinting in his eye as it always does. “I would never leave you, Erik,” he says, his voice still deep and slurred with sleep, rumbling up through his back to Erik’s chest.

With a sharp gasp, Erik is coming into the small of Charles’ back, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he presses his face to the pillow beside Charles’ face. Everything is white and fuzzy for a moment, but he can still hear Charles humming contentedly, his fingers dropping down to rest gently on Erik’s.

Distantly, Erik realizes Charles is still moving, still seeking release against the sheets. A thin coil of guilt spreads through him and he says, “I’m sorry. I can help. Just give me a moment.” He doesn’t have to do anything, isn’t obligated by anything other than attachment to give Charles anything, and, in the past, he hasn’t always given him release. There have been times where Charles has even enjoyed it. But today, Erik wants to give Charles everything.

“I’m in no hurry,” Charles says, but he’s shifting under Erik, rolling onto his back and sliding his hand between their bodies to pull at his cock. There’s a calming brush of Charles’ mind on his own, soothing away the urgency of guilt, but it feels dull in comparison to the fire he had seen in Charles’ eyes last night.

Erik huffs out a breath and pushes up onto his elbows and knees once more to gain the leverage to kiss Charles. It’s hot and wet and slow, the slide of their lips and tongues lazy as the light of the morning sun shifts with the curtains in the breeze. Erik shifts quickly as he comes back to his senses, one of his hands moving to twist in Charles’ soft hair, elbow braced on the bed as his other hand wraps around Charles’ on his cock.

Breathing Erik’s name, Charles’ head tips back and Erik chases his lips, swallowing down his frantic whispering in another kiss. Charles is projecting his pleasure, the muted colors of it bright in Erik’s mind, but he he wants more. He doesn’t even think this time before he acts, sending out a tendril of his power to loosen the metal of the collar around the stones, disconnecting them from each other and the collar itself.

Charles gasps, his eyes flying open as the stones fall to the bed and Erik growls, sitting back and pulling Charles with him, away from the stones. Grasping tightly to Erik’s shoulder, Charles pushes his face into Erik’s chest and comes, his knees drawing up against the backs of Erik’s thighs. His orgasm is white and hot in Erik’s mind, whiting out his vision again, leaving him panting into Charles’ hair as he holds him close.

“You—” Erik starts to say when he feels Charles relax against him, his hand trailing from Erik’s shoulder down his back. “Charles—”

“Yes?” Charles asks, his content amusement seeping through Erik’s mind with more clarity than ever.

“I just—” Erik can’t find words, his voice sticking in his throat as he tries. Burying his face in Charles’ hair once more, he gives up, his emotions jumbled and open at the front of his mind.

He feels Charles’ smile against the skin of his chest and shivers as Charles’ tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I know,” Charles says, shifting to press a kiss over Erik’s heart. “I feel it, too.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Unsure and Unwilling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625256) by [theapolis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theapolis/pseuds/theapolis)




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